Pain in the Box
by randominuyasha
Summary: Robot Chicken fanfiction that makes fun of the restaurant, Jack in the Box. First of its kind. Please R&R! This is what would happen if Robot Chicken pushed its stuff to the limit, very disturbing. Follows the story of Timmy and what he finds in his toy.


**Pain in the Box**

"Thanks, Mommy!" the five year old boy cried in glee, as he received the take-out bag filled with his dinner. He hugged it like there was no tomorrow, partly because of the warmth. It was the middle of winter, and the kid wanted to stay warm by whatever means possible.

"You're welcome, Sweety. Anything for my little boy," the lady in the driver's seat said kindly, as she made a disgusted face and looked in her wallet. She was a loving mom, and being so, her wallet was almost always empty. This was one of those times.

They were about to drive away when the person at the take-out window stopped her. "You forgot your complimentary toy. It's for the kid," she said dryly, as she handed over the box-shaped toy. She was clearly the type of person who didn't care about much of anything.

"Oh, thanks. I almost forgot," the mom quietly cursed under her breath, careful to not let her child hear.

"Whatever," the person in the building sighed, and went back to staring absent mindedly into space and blowing bubble gum bubbles.

The family drove from the drive-thru, and the Jack in the Box mascot saw them out. It continued to stare at them with its beady eyes as they drove away from the restaurant. It was creepy, and the kid's mom wanted to get out of the bone chilling place as soon as possible.

"Mommy, can I have my toy now?" the boy asked, not bothering with a simple please.

"Not right now, Timmy, and say please when you ask a question," Timmy's mom scolded, as she stepped on the gas. The mascot's constant stare was really creeping her out, and she had a feeling that something bad was going to happen.

::At Timmy's House::

"Mommy, can I have my toy now? PWEASE?" the little boy whined, as he made puppy dog eyes to compliment his begging.

"No, Timmy. Finish your meal first, and then you can have your toy. And please leave your mother alone. She's had a very long day," Timmy's dad piped up, for his wife had fallen asleep on the couch as soon as she'd gotten home. She hadn't even eaten anything, and here dinner was getting colder and colder by the minute.

"Oh...OK, Daddy..." Timmy sulked in a very whiney voice.

Timmy returned to the table where his meal sat and ate the rest of his curly fries. He didn't feel like finishing the rest of his meal, so the little brat in him was unleashed. He sneakily scraped the rest of his burger onto the floor for his dog to chow down on.

Satisfied that he'd tricked his parents, he ran back into the living room. "Daddy, Daddy! I'm all done now!" he lied. His dad was too busy watching the war status on the evening news to pay any attention to his son.

"Uhg..." his dad grunted. Timmy had come to know this grunt as one that meant something like, 'Yeah, sure. Do whatever you want.'

Having heard his dad's uncaring grunt, Timmy decided that he could now play with his brand-new toy. His parents had hidden it in a very obvious place; the far end of the table. They thought that he wasn't capable of climbing all the way up there, but they were wrong. He found it easily, like he did with all the items that his parents attempted to keep him away from.

Timmy was talented at climbing, and got to his new toy without any problem at all. He first climbed on top of the chair, then moved to the table, and finally retrieved his treasure and hopped off the table. He landed on the floor with a bit of a thump, though his courageous act went unnoticed to his parents.

"Daddy, Daddy! Look at this!" Timmy cried in glee, as he held up the square for his father to see.

"Uh-huh..." his dad said uncaringly, keeping his eyes trained on the television screen.

Timmy was disappointed that his dad was ignoring him and his new toy, so he went on by himself and investigated the box. He found a button, and pressed it.

A whirring sound filled his ears and he closed his eyes in anticipation of something exciting. Soon the whirring sound stopped, and he gingerly opened his eyes. He'd been expecting something extravagant. What he held in front of him was not at all what he'd expected.

"It's a...jack in the box..." he stated plainly in a disappointed tone of voice, as he took hold of the crank that had emerged from the smoothness of the painted red box.

He held the crank tightly in his hand, and turned to his heart's content. The first verse of Pop goes the Weasel played in polyphonic notes as he turned the crank. He did it slowly, as to build the anticipation of the surprise he knew would come. It would be just like them all; a clown popping out to scare whomever played with it.

But it wasn't like all the others.

As the last few notes played, Timmy waited for the imminent surprise. It did turn out to be a surprise, for it was very much unexpected.

The lid of the jack in the box flew open as the last note ended. A clown's upper body sprung up from its hiding place, though it was very different from all the other clowns that were contained in toys like that one.

The head of the clown was a simple white ball the nose was a red cone, a blue oval was the mouth, and the eyes were painted black; it was a recreation of the Jack in the Box mascot.

But there was also something life-changing and potentially deadly about the toy.

Attached with heavy duty wire to the dolls hands was a large vat of boiling fry grease. As the doll sprung up, the scalding liquid leapt from its bowl. It hit Timmy with a loud splash.

Timmy screeched in pain, pushing his frail voice to its limit. Effects of the scorching hot fry grease could immediately be seen clearly, as his face, arms, and hands turned a deep shade of crimson. The pure heat of the grayish-brown liquid scorched his paper thin t-shirt, burning small holes in it. The holes grew, and soon there was no shirt left to wear.

The child's insistent screaming continued to fill the room, piercing the ears of whoever happened to be in the room with him. Although he desperately wanted to drop the box that had brought on his excruciating pain, he couldn't let go. His muscles had tensed up, bringing the pain to an even greater magnitude, and not letting him let go of the box.

It had all happened so fast, and Timmy's dad seemed to be in shock. He snapped out of it, though, and leapt up to help his son. By the time he got to Timmy, his face had started to bubble slightly, and his voice had weakened greatly due to his unrelenting screaming.

His yelps of pain woke his mother from her slumber, and she quickly realized the type of thing that was happening. She knew that the comforting words that were spewing out of Timmy's dad's mouth weren't doing much to help the situation, so she took matters into her own hands.

She rushed to the supply closet and snatched a very large bucket. She ran to the kitchen and filled the cream colored bucket with ice cold water, and then she lugged it back to the disaster area. The whole time she worked on this task, she was shaking herself from her sleepy state, eye gunk and all.

She reached her sizzling son, and knew what she had to do. She lifted the heavy bucket of crisp, cool water until she had it directly above his head. Now that is was in place, she let it rip. The water poured from the bucket as soon as she tilted it, and it drenched Timmy.

As soon as the cold water hit Timmy's hot skin, a reaction occurred. The two temperatures mixed, and created steam. Timmy was steaming, though the boiling of his skin had been cancelled out. For the time being, Timmy was out of danger.

Now that the crisis was over, the family let out a deep sigh of relief. Now that Timmy was out of the line of danger, they all plopped down onto the couch to think; now they had to figure out what there were to do with their crispy son. He was most likely damaged beyond repair.

His eyes were red and puffy, and were clearly damaged; they most likely would be for the rest of his life. His skin was either black or red, depending on how much he'd been burnt in those particular areas. His fingers, since they had been so small in the first place, had withered and resembled burnt curly fries.

The whole ordeal had made the family very hungry, though there was barely any food in the house to eat; the only reason they'd gone to Jack in the Box was because they were too lazy to go shopping. So, seeing that Timmy's fingers looked a lot like food, they attempted the unthinkable.

They took Timmy by the hands and pulled him forward. His hands felt similar to sand paper, though not as course, but the parents didn't care; they were starving. They regularly wouldn't have committed such a corrupt deed, but they knew that by that time, all the feeling in Timmy's fingers would have disappeared. So they continued without regret or remorse.

They grabbed hold of his frail fingers and pulled. With a soft snapping sound, they easily snapped off, bone and all. They relentless parents then popped Timmy's fingers into their mouths. They brought their teeth down on the brittle black fingers, and chewed until there was nothing more to chew. They couldn't get enough of it, either; as soon as they finished the first ones, they helped themselves to the other fingers on Timmy's hands.

"Mmm! Finger Fries!" Timmy's dad said through a mouthful of burnt fingers.

::End::

Well...there you go! It's so random! I was just watching one of those Jack in the Box commercials, and it randomly came to me. My friend was over, and I told her the idea...she said that it sounded like something that could be on Robot Chicken, so I got inspired! I wrote it, and everyone was saying how random and unreal it was, so I felt that I had accomplished my goal! This is a one-shot, so there's nothing more after this...but I hope to come up with more random fan fictions soon. I'm very sure that this is the first of its kind, as I can't find a Robot Chicken fan fiction anywhere!

Anyway, have fun reading, and I hope you check out my other fan fictions! And don't forget to review! I love criticism, and flaming is OK too...as long as I get reviews, it's all good. Everything you say can potentially boost my writing skills and make me a better writer!

Disclaimer: I do not own Robot Chicken, nor do I own Jack in the Box...too bad for me...although, I don't think I'd want to own a restaurant chain...


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